


A Heavy Necessity

by keyboardclicks



Series: Stories from a Seer [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Apocalypse, Burns, Fire, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, except it's more like Future Traumatic Stress Disorder, seeing the future is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: He doesn't have to, he knows he doesn't have to.  But what kind of Seer would Indrid be if he couldn't handle this?





	A Heavy Necessity

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Duck confirms, handing Indrid his requested notepad and pencil. “You kept saying how bad it was before... we don’t wanna make you go through it again.”

Indrid waves him away with a smile. “I appreciate your concern, Duck, I do. But I am a Seer, after all; what good would I be if I couldn’t at least use my powers to help identify the source of world ending disaster?” He’s on his sofa, pad of paper now position on his lap and pencil poised. Aubrey is perched crossed-legged on his dining table, petting an enormous rabbit who had been introduced to him as “Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD”, and whose paw he had graciously shaken at his front door. Ned is beside her in a chair, and Duck is still standing nearby, scratching the back of his neck with a look of nervous apprehension.

“Well, if you’re really sure…”

“As sure as sure can be,” Indrid promises. “Though, I do appreciate you all being here. While sketching out different scenarios can be helpful, I find that being able to explain them in words is much faster.”

“And I brought Dr. Bonkers,” Aubrey adds proudly, “just in case something goes wrong. He’s great to have around when you’re upset. And like, he’s also great to have around when you’re not!” Dr. Bonkers’ nose twitches in approval as Aubrey scratches behind his ears.

“His presence is very comforting,” Indrid nods. 

“Not to be rude,” Ned says, clearly not caring if he’s rude, “but would we be able to get on with the whole future-seeing thing? I left Kirby in charge of the shop today and while I can trust him for the most part, I’ve found he just doesn’t have the flair for showmanship like I do and sales tend to suffer when he’s the only one there.”

“That’s because he honors the price originally on the tag and not the ones you write on,” Aubrey says, then gesturing to her t-shirt which proudly advertises the Cryptonimica. “I mean c’mon, Ned, twenty bucks for this?”

“That’s a quality item!”

“If by quality you mean “really shittily made” then yeah. I didn’t even need to cut holes in this; it started coming apart on its own!”

“It will hardly be a wearable item in about two months, give or take depending how often you wear it,” Indrid nods. “But anyway, I think I will get on with, as Ned put it, the whole future-seeing thing. If you’ll all just give me a moment to prepare.”

“Take all the time you need, buddy,” Duck assures, shooting Ned a look to avoid any contradictions to that statement.

Indrid closes his eyes. (He doesn’t necessarily _need_ to close his eyes for this; in fact he generally prefers not to. But when trying to get particular details from a rather finicky set of futures, blocking out the present can help.) The set of Burning Futures, as he’s begun to call them, are still a foreboding halo of red in the periphery of his mental vision. Despite his previously assuring words, Indrid feels his chest tighten along with his grip on the pencil. But he breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out, deep and calm and steady. Because _what kind of Seer would he be if he couldn’t even manage this?_

Indrid’s hand moves on its own, pencil dragging across paper.

“Fire,” is the first word from his lips as the visions overtake everything else he can See. “There’s fire.”

“We knew that,” Ned grumbles, but Aubrey shushes him.

“Where’s the fire, Indrid?” asks Duck.

“Everywhere.”

“Alright, different question. Where’d it start?”

“I…” He focuses, tries to catch the start of each of these visions. There’s skeletons of pine trees outlined in a red and orange glow as the entire forest is caught alight. Cars twisted into demented shapes of metal and rubber, houses transformed from safe havens to ovens where their occupants roast alive, stores abandoned in anarchistic haste. Indrid recognizes one of the streets, recognizes the form of a metal sign as it slumps over, topheavy, into the ceiling of a general store from which it was only recently removed.

“Keplar,” he bites. “It starts in Keplar.”

Aubrey and Ned murmur something to one another. Duck asks him a question. Indrid tunes them out, focuses on the then and blocks out the now.

Things flash by quickly: a car rams into the back of a pickup truck as all eight tires melt into the pavement, a firetruck attempts to put out a blaze but the water in their hose evaporates in an instant, someone on fire tries to find relief and safety in a nearby stream but just falls into a small crevice where the water once was. He shrivels in the heat like a tomato, screams inaudible over the din of the fire all around him.

Indrid tries to look away, to focus on another vision, one without people. But the thing about the Earth is that it’s annoyingly _really full of those._ He can’t help but See them, frenzying as one building goes up in flames, then another, then another until nowhere is safe. They bake on the pavement like ants beneath the magnifying glass of a terribly curious child. Others seek shelter beneath ground, locking themselves in basements to wait out the destruction and instead finding themselves trapped in a sweltering box of heat and baking from the inside out. Swimmers in oceans, lakes, and ponds are booked alive as the water boils around them, too fast to escape.

His stomach churns. _Keep going. You’re the Seer; you have to keep going. If you can’t do this, what use are you? If you can’t get what they need, then what use do you serve?_

“It comes fast,” he chokes out. His mouth feels so dry. “At first the days just get too hot— people, they— they try to cool off. Go swimming. Get boiled alive; there’s no time to get away.”

Someone’s speaking; is it Duck? Indrid’s pretty sure it’s Duck. But he can’t focus on that, can’t dwell on the present, has to focus on the future.

Animals run from the fires but it’s a futile race. Some jump through walls of fire, others lay down and accept their fates, too tired to fight anymore. Heavy black smoke rises from the bodies as they burn, mixes with the steam and floating embers that fill the air. Indrid can taste the vile, bitter stuff in the back of his throat and swallows down a gag.

He can’t avoid the people any longer. They’re in the center of his Vision, screaming, crying, praying for comfort or for a swift death. Halos of fire erupt around people’s heads as their hair is the first thing to burn away. They try to rip off their clothes before they can catch or roll on the ground to put it out when it does but nothing works because it’s as if everything in the world, all at once, has forgotten how to be anything but completely and utterly burnt. Children cry in confused pain for their parents before succumbing to their own wounds; particularly brave sorts rise even while burning to hold them and whisper words of comfort.

There is no pleasant way to witness people burning alive. There’s not even a “less unpleasant” way to do it; it’s just terrible every single time. But Indrid keeps going, keeps trying to glean some useful scrap of information from these visions, these _gifts_ he is given that he should know better how to control and how to use but he _doesn’t,_ he doesn’t and so all he sees and hears is fire, all around him. Fire and burning and _screaming so much screaming before the world is quiet save for the din of flames and destruction, before the last human takes their last breath—_

“Indrid, buddy, I’m gonna touch your arm, okay?” says a voice close to his ear, unsteady but assuring as what Indrid assumes is a hand grips his bicep and shakes lightly. “You gotta come back to the present, now, c’mon.”

Present? Future? They’re all the same, all heat and melting and destruction and screaming before quiet, too much quiet. The futures are all thick with black smoke that chokes and corrodes the lungs as they gasp for the oxygen that has already been consumed by the planet’s flames. There’s nothing but fire and heat and death and— 

And a soft, heavy weight on his lap and another voice on his other side.

“C’mon, Indrid, you’re alright! You’re okay, nice and safe in your… house? Car? Housecar?”

“Just call it a Winnebago, Aubrey,” says the voice on his left. “And Ned, get a trashcan or somethin’, I think he’s gonna puke.” The hand rubs his shoulder while something in the slight distance clammors and clangs. “Can you open your eyes for me, bud?”

It takes Indrid a moment to remember how to work his human eyes, to remember that they can even close because it isn’t something he’s used to in his natural state. But he slowly drags them open, seeing the present in the rose-tinted hue of his glasses. His notepad was thrown to the floor, there's a very large rabbit on his lap, and Aubrey is moving in front of him, smiling.

“Dr. Bonkers wanted to make sure you were okay,” she smiles, explaining the animal’s presence atop his person.

“We all did,” Duck agrees from the left, scooting a bit so that Ned can place a trash can nearby in case of emergencies. “Gave us a pretty good scare.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Indrid starts to say, but before he can get two words in to the sentence he’s interrupted by Aubrey; he sees her kneeling in front of him. And then he Sees her, surrounded by flames that creep closer and closer, reflecting in the darkness of her eyes. He sees her skin char and her hair burn away as she screams and musters what must be every ounce of magic she possess but it just isn’t enough because the skin of her face burns away, _melts away to reveal bleached white bone and the destruction spreads her clothes and her chest and her eyes shrivel up in their sockets as she collapses to her knees—_

Indrid doesn’t think he has once, in the entirety of his length existence, vomited as hard as he does now, and he welcomes it. Every bit of bile in his stomach feels like a burden and he wants to be rid of it, rid of anything that could stir up and upset when he thinks of the visions. 

“Ugh, gross,” Ned says from a definite few feet away, but Indrid barely hears him over his sudden concern at how _hot_ it is in this trailer. The air is stifling and dry and he _can’t breathe, why does he keep it so warm in here?_

The distance from the couch to the floor is not a great one, which is fortunate for Dr. Harris Bonkers, who rolls off of Indrid’s lap when he very suddenly stands up and stumble-dashes to the door of the RV. Then he shoves it open and throws himself outside and onto his hands and knees in the layer of snow that coats the ground, swearing he can hear it sizzle and evaporate as it makes contact with his feverish skin. Whether it’s real or imagined, the sound makes him sick again, but the freezing cold between his fingers is too real, too present, too _different_ from the future to give up.

“The hell?” says Ned’s voice from behind him. “Get back in here, moth boy, you’ll freeze your wings off!”

“It’s too hot,” he replies softly, unable to yell. “It’s too— I can’t, it’s too hot—” He gathers snow in his hands and pushes it through his hair, letting it cool his aching, pounding head. “It’s too hot in there I can’t go in—”

“Ned, turn off some of the space heaters,” says Duck, and Indrid hears some footsteps crunch behind him in the snow. “Will that help?” he asks, leaning down to help Indrid to his feet. “C’mon, back to the couch. We’ll leave the door cracked, too, if you want.”

He refuses, at first, grounding himself in the sensation of cold snow beneath him and sharp wind against his face. Only after the bones in his hands start aching from the cold does Indrid let Duck lead him back into the RV, let Ned drape a blanket over his shoulders even though he _doesn’t want to be warm,_ let Aubrey set Dr. Bonkers very carefully next to him for company.

“He isn’t mad that you dropped him,” Aubrey assures. “He just wants to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

Indrid doesn’t reply— _can’t_ reply. His mouth feels dried and full of cotton but even the thought of drinking something puts his stomach on edge. He’s burning up but he’s shaking so hard that his glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Do you wanna take them off?” Duck asks when he notices Indrid fidgeting, but he shakes his head. It would be too much at once, too many presents mixing in with too many pasts. He wants to see the present singularly, tinted red from his glasses so he can distinguish it, ground himself, know that what is happening is real and he is there and so are they, alive and well and untouched by fire. But even if he isn’t Seeing it anymore, he can’t help remembering what he witnessed in those visions, and the thought alone of Aubrey’s bones peaking out from melting flesh is enough to put Indrid right back over the garbage can. Nothing comes out, though; by this point he’s thoroughly emptied his stomach.

“Can we get you anything?” Duck asks, somehow still calm in the face of Indrid’s distress. “Water, or..?”

“No,” says Indrid quickly. “No, just— just stay, don’t go. Please. Please. I can’t be alone can’t— can’t stop thinking if I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Duck promises, taking seat on his left side while Aubrey and Dr. Bonkers occupy the left. Ned remains in a kitchen chair, but does at least scoot it so that he is within touching distance of Indrid’s knees. Indrid doesn’t know how long the four of them sit like that, (his knowledge of the passage of time is shotty at best), but eventually the tremors that wrack his body... if not subside then at least reduce themselves to minor trembling that is no longer cause for immediate concern.

“Well,” Indrid finally manages to say when his breathing has regulated. “That was… _extremely_ unpleasant!”

“What even _was_ that?” Aubrey asks. “It was like you were having a PTSD flashback? Of the future? ...Future Traumatic Stress Disorder? Flashforward???”

“It was… something along those lines, yes,” Indrid nods. “I Saw things that were even worse than I anticipated. I’m sorry I— I should have been more prepared for what I was going to witness.”

“Buddy, I’ve seen some gnarly shit as a forest ranger,” Duck says. “And lemme tell you; there’s no way to prepare for it. It’ll fuck you up every single time. You might think you’re prepared for it but then when the real thing comes? Whoo boy.”

“That is perhaps true for things like victims of bear attacks, Duck, but I am a _Seer._ It’s my business to see horrible things so that they can be prevented.”

“Maybe but, it uh… doesn’t seem like that’d make you any more equipped to seeing some fucked up shit.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey agrees. “Just because you _can_ see horrible things doesn’t mean you _should._ Like, I _can_ eat three tubs of chocolate ice cream in an hour, but I _shouldn’t._ Ned _can_ use gross animal waste septic fluid for various purposes but he _shouldn’t.”_

“Hey! That was one time and it saved our asses!”

The chuckle takes Indrid by surprise; he doesn’t feel like laughing. But he even manages a weak smile and looks up at the faces of his friends to read their concern. Aubrey’s face is a little harder to look at than the others, but Indrid grounds himself with a hand on the head of Dr. Harris Bonkers, who twitches in appreciation. He doesn’t feel heat or smell smoke, doesn’t see burning bodies or buildings in the midst of collapse. There’s just his friends and his camper, safe and still and cool, just as they should be. So why is he still shivering..? Oh.

“I… hate to be a bother,” Indrid says. “Especially after you went through all the trouble of turning them off, but could you turn my heaters back on, please? And closing the door? It’s... getting quite chilly in here.”

Ned laughs a bit, but nods. “Be happy to, friend.”

“It’s okay if I hug you, right?” Aubrey asks, throwing herself around his side the moment Indrid nods. “I usually need a hug when something bad like this happens.”

“I don’t think I’ve had a hug in quite some time,” Indrid admits. Aubrey gasps, absolutely scandalized.

“But hugs are like _the best!”_

“Most humans find me too strange to interact with,” he shrugs. “I suppose that is partially my fault. So this is… a treat. Thank you, Aubrey.”

“Oh, I’m gonna hug you _all the time_ from now on,” she promises. “If I’m here at the campground? Expect a hug. Possibly more than one. 100%. This is not a deal you can escape.”

“I look forward to it.”

Aubrey narrows her eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re using ‘look forward’ as a pun or not…”

“No, not this time, but good catch!”

It’s a bit of a blow to Indrid’s pride that he couldn’t handle his own visions, but the pleasant feeling of a friend-stocked Winnebago eases the pain. He trusts the Pine Guard’s ability to take care of whatever’s coming, and while he doesn’t know exactly how much there is, Indrid knows there’s time. The promise of destruction still looms in the future, and it’s still impossible to tell how far away, but for the time being Indrid will have to force himself into the present.

“Well, I don’t know about the three of you, but I could use a nice, cold glass of eggnog!”

“ **Pass,** ” the three of them respond, and Indrid shadows the word without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yep, he’s feeling better,” Aubrey nods, and the others laugh.

For now the present seems pretty alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly should have looked over this more but if I didn't publish it before I went to work I was gonna go kinda crazy.


End file.
